


Dribs and Drabs of the Tumblr Variety

by fuchs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crack, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Domestic Derek, Drunk Stiles, Fluff, Here there be dragons, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Piercings, Ridiculousness, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:38:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuchs/pseuds/fuchs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a collection of drabbles and ficlets originally posted on my tumblr. Fluff and crack with a sprinkling of dragons.</p><p>Each chapter is its own ficlet. Pairings and trigger warnings can be found in the chapter summary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Promenons-nous dans les bois](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3584181) by [Lena_221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena_221b/pseuds/Lena_221b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
> 
> Anonymous asked: Sooo, I need to know: who is a better cook, Stiles or Derek? Do they adopt a cat, a chinchilla or a dragon? Does Stiles get his nipple pierced? Who is a cuddle whore? Also, are you made out of rainbow kittens? Because I think you are the sweetest. *hugs you*
> 
> i chose to answer anon in drabble form

The first time Stiles walks into Derek’s loft and finds him _cooking_ he’s so stunned that he forgets to actually stop walking and crashes into a table.

Derek raises an eyebrow without looking away from where he’s blanching ( _blanching_ ) vegetables. Once Stiles has stopped rolling around on the floor he uses two bar stools to pull himself right-side-up and brushes himself off as nonchalantly as he can manage.

"You cook?" he asks, trying his hardest not to appear incredulous, but Derek is wearing _oven mitts_ so it’s not really going too well.

Derek levels him with his patented ‘why am I dating an idiot?’ look. It’s very, _very_ flat.

"Yes, Stiles, I can cook," he says, and pokes at something sizzling in a pan. Stiles boggles. Derek raises his other eyebrow this time. "Why is this shocking? You know I eat."

"Well, _yeah_ , objectively,” Stiles agrees. “I just always assumed you lived off a diet of Hot Pockets, squirrels, and the tears of your enemies.”

_So very flat._

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint. I’ll throw this in the bin and then head out to rustle up some woodland creatures.” He goes to turn off the burner and Stiles dives across the kitchen.

"No, no, no. This is good. This is — What is this?" Stiles takes a whiff and just about hits the floor again. "Oh god, _feed me_.”

(Stiles can cook too, but his speciality is sweet things. Derek couldn’t bake a cake to save his life. They’re a match made in culinary heaven.)

*********

"No," Derek says sternly, giving Stiles everything his eyebrows have to offer. "Absolutely not."

"What! Derek, come on, you know you want one," Stiles wheedles, waggling his own eyebrows at Derek. He looks ridiculous and definitely not appealing.

"I have my hands full enough just trying to look after _you_.”

"Hey!" Stiles squawks. "I resent that! I am a fully functioning adult, thank you very much," he says, puffing himself up.

All Derek has to do is glance pointedly at the thing curled up in Stiles’ arms and he puffs right back down again.

"I’ll keep her at my place! You won’t even know she’s there. I’ll take such good care of her, I swear." Derek remains unmoved. Stiles pulls out the big guns. “Baby, _please_.” Damn him. “Just look at that face. You can’t say no to that face.”

The thing is, Derek is dangerously close to letting slip just how true that is. He’ll never be able to say no to Stiles. He might put up a token protest, but Derek knows that the second Stiles asks him for something he’s already screwed.

And right now Stiles isn’t pulling his punches either. He’s got the big eyes and the pouty lips and his neck stretched out at the most perfect angle and Derek’s ready to fall to his knees and offer Stiles _everything._

Except, _what_ , no, not this time, Stiles is starting to make him legitimately _insane_.

"Who are you?! Hagrid?!" he exclaims. "Put the dragon down, Stiles."

Stiles pulls this heartbroken face, and Derek is almost swayed except _dragon._

"But she’s just a baby!" Stiles wails. "She doesn’t know how to look after herself."

"She just singed off Scott’s eyebrows," Derek says flatly. "I think she’ll be fine."

(On the walk back to the Jeep Derek offers to buy Stiles a cat in place of the dragon, because they’re basically the same thing anyway and Derek is a sucker.)

*********

"I told you not to do it," Derek sing-songs, condescendingly, not even looking up from his book. The ass.

"No you didn’t," Stiles moans from his place on the couch. He removes his arm from his face to glare weakly at said ass. "You said, ‘As if you’d ever get your nipple pierced’. Which was basically a direct challenge. Which means _of course_ I did it.”

Derek doesn’t even stop reading to roll his eyes at Stiles. He just kind of widens them slightly with a long-suffering look on his face. The ass.

"This is entirely your fault," Stiles whines. Derek doesn’t respond at all.

Stiles wriggles around making pitiful noises until Derek snaps his book shut with a growl. “What.”

"It hurts," Stiles sniffles.

"Well that’s because you poked a piece of metal through your flesh," Derek bitches, but he gets up and walks over to the couch anyway. He lifts Stiles’ legs and settles himself down, Stiles’ thighs splayed across his lap. Then he curls his hand around Stiles’ knee and begins leeching his pain.

"Better?" he asks, and Stiles hums in the back of his throat, his eyes fluttering shut.

He’s just about to drop off the edge of consciousness when something hot and _wet_ envelops his nipple. Stiles jerks violently and finds Derek staring up at him from his chest, eyes dancing. He grins wickedly and flicks his tongue against the bar and Stiles _melts_.

(Derek ends up loving Stiles’ nipple piercing. Stiles lords it over him for _months_ until Derek comes home with a piercing in a _much_ more sensitive place. Stiles’ mouth is busy doing other things after that.)

*********

Derek went into this relationship with Stiles with his eyes wide open. Which basically meant he was expecting a lot of sex, because every second word out of the kid’s mouth was innuendo and he smelled constantly turned-on. And Stiles did not disappoint. There was a lot of sex. _A lot_.

Derek was not expecting the cuddling. But five months in Derek’s beginning to wonder if Stiles is actually a were-octopus and just hasn’t told him yet.

No matter how aggressively he spoons Stiles when they’re drifting off to sleep, he’ll always wake up buried under warm, clingy boy.

When Derek joined the Stilinski’s in visiting the Sheriff’s mother over Thanksgiving, he passed out alone on the couch and woke to Stiles wrapped around him, his face shoved under a throw pillow.

Stiles holds him in the shower, tucks Derek under his arm at pack movie nights, plasters himself to Derek’s back in the kitchen when he’s soft and tired-eyed.

The first time Stiles grabbed Derek’s hip and rested his head on Derek’s shoulder while they were both brushing their teeth Derek spent two whole minutes staring at him in the mirror. The _first_ time. Now it feels weird whenever he’s not lopsided during his entire morning routine.

For years after Kate, Derek was uncomfortable being touched. Other people’s hands made his blood pump harder and his breathing turn shallower and his muscles coil up. Now, the safest he ever feels is when Stiles’ arms are snug around his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is my [tumblr](http://www.mermaid-reyes.tumblr.com) were i answer prompts like this and reblog pictures of puppies


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
> 
> tumblr user byggummybear asked: Please???? Sterek #11. things you said when you were drunk Thank you<333

"I dream about riding you sometimes."

Derek drops Stiles flat on his face.

Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, just tries to roll himself back over. ‘Tries’ being the operative word, because he somehow manages to get himself tangled in his hoodie and then he’s just struggling on the ground with his head trapped in the sleeve.

Ordinarily Derek would help him, would feel guilty about dropping him in the first place, but right now he’s too preoccupied with choking on his own spit.

Stiles fights his way out of his clothing and gazes up at Derek.

"You’re so big though, I’m not even sure I could get my legs around you."

Can werewolves go into cardiac arrest? Because it’s happening, Derek’s pretty sure it’s happening.

"And you’re so strong, too. I bet I could just climb up on there and you could keep going for hours."

Stiles smacks his lips and wiggles on the forest floor and seems completely unconcerned with the way Derek’s world is rearranging itself around him.

"Such a scary wolfy," Stiles mumbles, eyelashes fluttering. "You’re also really fluffy though." He reaches out and starts patting Derek’s boot. "Preeeetty."

Derek steps carefully away from Stiles and smashes his head into the nearest tree. A cut appears on his eyebrow and then heals before he’s even wiped the blood away. Because Stiles is talking about riding Derek _in his wolf form_. Like he’s some kind of glorified pony. And Derek is so pathetically gone on this boy that he’d let him. He’d growl and snarl and snap his jaws and then he’d get down on his haunches and carry Stiles wherever he wanted to go.

He’s absolutely, definitively _not_ disappointed that Stiles isn’t talking about riding him in his human form because that would gross and creepy and taking advantage of Stiles’ intoxicated state.

Right, Stiles, who is drunk, and burrowing into a pile of leaves.

Derek sighs at his life and stomps over to pick Stiles up again.

"Whoa, spinny!" Stiles shrieks and clutches at Derek’s collar. When he’s got his feet back under himself he looks around and frowns. "Nooo, no standing, it’s nap time."

"It’s three o’clock in the morning," Derek grumbles.

"Which is why it’s nap time," Stiles insists, like it wasn’t his idea to get smashed in the woods in the middle of the night like an utter moron.

"You can sleep back at the loft, okay?" Derek bargains, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist and hauling him forward.

"Mmm your bed," Stiles groans, stuffing his face into Derek’s neck. "Been trying to get into your bed for months."

Derek drops Stiles flat on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is my [tumblr](http://www.mermaid-reyes.tumblr.com) where i answer prompts like this and reblog cute fan art


	3. Tequila Cheeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Danny Mahealani/Jackson Whittemore
> 
> no one asked for a jackson/danny college au. i wrote one anyway.

It’s his second official day of college and Jackson needs a campus ID card.

It wasn’t high on his list of priorities, but then he went to buy a skim double shot hazelnut frappuccino (no whip) from the coffee cart outside the law library and was denied the discounted price because he couldn’t prove his student status.

Now obviously the cost wasn’t the issue here, because hello, he’s a Whittemore, he won’t pay less than $200 for a pair of shoes. And _being_ a Whittemore he won’t stand to be looked down on by a long-haired, scruffy-faced, Ásgeir-playing _barista._

So. Campus card it is.

He makes his way to the Student Services Center and finds himself in a twenty minute wait to get to the front of the line. He spends fifteen of those minutes wondering if he’d be able to pay someone to stand in line for him. Students need money; Jackson has money and no patience. It’s a match made in capitalist heaven. The guy behind him looks desperate enough to take him up on the offer. He has to be strapped for cash, right? That much polyester cannot be a voluntary fashion choice.

But then, with five minutes to go, he gets a glimpse of one of the upperclassmen manning the card printing station. And yeah, okay, he’ll stick around for those biceps.

The gods must be smiling down on him today (although when are they not, really) because Boulder Shoulders finishes with the student he was serving just as Jackson hits the front of the line.

He prepares what Lydia calls his Boxer Dropper Smirk and saunters over.

And stumbles. Into the desk. Banging his hip painfully into the fake wood.

He is unprepared.

Tanned skin, big eyes, perfectly pink lips, and dimples deep enough to drink tequila out of – if it weren’t eleven am Jackson would suggest body shots. Fuck it, he might suggest body shots anyway, because if Jackson didn’t own a mirror he’d think this guy was the hottest person he’s ever seen.

“You okay?” the demi-god posing as an IT technician asks.

“Thanks,” Jackson replies.

Fuck.

“I mean, I’m fine,” he corrects himself quickly. “Thank you. For, uh, your concern?”

“You’re welcome,” Tequila Cheeks says, hiding a smile behind his hand. “Your student number and some photo ID, please.”

Jackson pulls out his wallet and hands over his license, and when his fingers brush against Criminally Deep V-Neck’s his eight digit student number goes sailing out of his head.

Which means he has to scrabble around his (Italian leather) messenger bag trying to locate the print out of his class schedule, Mini-Quiff biting his lips to stifle a laugh.

And that just makes everything _worse_. Jackson just barely manages to grab hold of his laptop before it goes tumbling to the floor along with his phone and keys and seriously, what the fuck, he’s approaching _Stilinski-levels_ of incompetence right now.

Eventually, Jackson finds the piece of paper he’s looking for, gets all his personal belongings back in one place, and mutters off his student number.

Distracting Hands verifies that he is indeed Jackson Whittemore (which might not be such a great thing, at this point), and then instructs him to sit on a chair against the opposite wall to have his photo taken.

The flash goes off and Baby Face furrows up his eyebrows.

“Let’s try again,” he says. “You look a bit red in that one.”

And that could be the understatement of the century because Jackson’s whole face is _aflame_. It’s possibly pure charcoal by now.

Twinkle Eyes takes another photo, examines it, and ducks his head, chuckling good-naturedly.

“Relax. You’re allowed to smile, this isn’t the DMV.”

So Jackson closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then puts on his very best ‘come hither’ smile.

“Okay, yeah, that one works,” Man-Cleavage says distantly, eyes lingering on his computer screen. “You can wait at the other end of the counter while I print your card.”

Jackson power walks away from his humiliation and decides to skip his afternoon lectures. He’s earned it. They’ll all just be introductory and admin lectures anyway.

Two excruciating minutes later Visible Abs (dear god, why was he allowed out from behind that counter) walks over, plastic card in hand.

“Just double check that all your info is correct and then sign on the back and you’re done,” he says, smiling merrily.

This card could say Miguel Juarez Cinqua Diago for all Jackson cares, he just wants out of here. But Thick Thighs is watching him expectantly so he sighs and looks it over.

And finds an error.

“This isn’t my student number,” he says, flipping the card around to point out the mistake.

“Oh,” Dirty Smirk all but purrs. “That appears to be my phone number.”

Jackson walks out of the Student Services Center that day with two campus ID cards, one his and one with Danny Mahealani scrawled across the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is my [tumblr](http://www.mermaid-reyes.tumblr.com) where i write things without being prompted and waste a concerning amount of time


End file.
